


Tomorrow

by missazrael



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: M/M, M/M/M, one big gay threesome, other characters get mentioned in passing, sort of, there's plot in here too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-21
Updated: 2014-05-21
Packaged: 2018-01-26 00:10:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1667585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missazrael/pseuds/missazrael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They’ve done it.  Their training is finished, they have weathered the storm and survived, and soon they’ll all part ways and go off to their separate branches of the military.  For tonight, though, they’re all still members of one cohesive unit, one family forged together through sweat and pain, and they’re celebrating the only way they know how.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dees and Poppy](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Dees+and+Poppy), [it's all their fault](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=it%27s+all+their+fault).



> http://missazrael.tumblr.com

They’ve done it. Their training is finished, they have weathered the storm and survived, and soon they’ll all part ways and go off to their separate branches of the military. For tonight, though, they’re all still members of one cohesive unit, one family forged together through sweat and pain, and they’re celebrating the only way they know how.

Marco blinks, and the bonfire in front of him solidifies as his vision comes back into focus. He shakes his head a little, smiling to himself, and takes another sip of his drink, hunching his shoulders the tiniest bit to avoid any friendly swats to the back of the head. It’s developed into a habit, even though he can see Jean across the fire, talking to Mina and Samuel and gesturing wildly about something. He thought Jean had stopped doing that, stopped waving his arms around when he got excited, but it looks like the alcohol coursing through his veins has brought it back out. He can feel his smile growing as he watches them.

They’re all drunk tonight, to varying degrees. It turns out Thomas knows how to make a truly rotgut moonshine (how he learned _that_ , living in Trost, Marco will never know), and that Connie and Sasha have been stealing alcohol from the officer’s quarters for six months in preparation. They claim the officers have been pointedly ignoring it, and that even Shadis himself slipped them a bottle of gin when he caught them just last night, although that sounds like bullshit of the highest order to Marco’s ears. Who knows, though? There might be some truth to it. They’ve been left alone and unmolested tonight, and he wonders if this is a ritual as old as the Trainees Squad, and if this is the one hundred and fourth time a group of recent graduates have gathered in the woods and celebrated their survival.

For some reason, that thought makes him sad, and he lifts his glass again, drinking deep.

“Hey.”

Marco lowers his glass quickly, less he end up with beer on his face, but it’s someone much bigger and heavier than Jean coming to join him, and he relaxes. “Hi, Reiner.” The big man settles next to him on the log he’s claimed as a seat, and the wood shifts slightly under his weight. Marco isn’t a small guy, but Reiner is huge, dwarfing all of them, and Marco leans in the opposite direction so he doesn’t go sliding into him. 

Reiner grins at him, the expression easy and at home on his face, and Marco notes his flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes. He’s drunk too, probably much further gone than Marco himself, a theory confirmed when Reiner snakes out his arm and throws it over Marco’s shoulders, dragging him close to his side in a one-armed hug. “Hey, buddy! You ready to go to the Interior?” Reiner laughs, and uses his free hand to scrub vigorously at Marco’s hair. “Gonna be an MP, aren’tcha? Gonna make us all so proud!”

“Reiner!” Marco squirms futilely, trying to get away, and with a bellowing laugh, Reiner releases him. He sets his drink down and fusses with his hair, trying to get it to lay flat again, but he’s not angry. It’s hard to be angry at Reiner, with his ebullient personality and mothering tendencies. It used to be strange, when they first got thrown together, to think of such an imposing figure as mothering, but now it’s second nature. Reiner was Team Mom, a role he fell into naturally and performed well, and everyone looked up to him, Marco included.

Reiner just grins, and leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and looking out across the fire. “So… you and Jean, huh?”

For a moment, despite the fire baking their fronts and the alcohol heating his stomach, Marco feels like every liquid in his body turns to ice. He tries to smile, although it feels like a death’s mask grin, exposing way too many teeth, and cocks his head. “What are you talking about?”

Has he really been that obvious?

Reiner waves a hand, gesturing across the fire, where it looks like Jean and Connie are about to getting into an extremely ill-advised drinking contest. “Tomorrow. You’re both joining the Military Police, right?” He looks back at Marco, his expression kind. “You can go to the Interior and serve the King like you always wanted.”

Marco relaxes; he hasn’t been discovered. As far as anyone knows, he and Jean are just friends. Close friends, of course, no one who has seen them together can deny that, but no one knows about the deep, growing crush he’s been nurturing for the last two years. Or maybe it had started earlier than that; maybe it had started on that first day, so long ago, when Jean had stood up after getting knocked to the ground and pushed through their first day of training with a grim determination and fortitude that Marco had admired, even then. Maybe he’d been waiting his whole life to meet someone like Jean Kirschtein.

Heh. His whole life. All sixteen years of it, only about three of which he’d had any interest in girls or boys or anyone who didn’t want to run in the fields with him outside Jinae and play with the dogs. As if he won’t have another fifty or sixty years behind Wall Sina to meet all kinds of interesting people while in the King’s service, as if he won’t have affairs and secret liaisons and eventually find the right person and settle down to lead a quiet, unimpressive life.

As if he’d ever want those things with anyone but Jean.

“Yes.” He picks up his glass to take another drink. “What about you? Survey Corps, right?”

“Yeah!” Reiner looks excited about that, the crazy fool, although if anyone was going to survive beyond the walls, it would be him. “Survey Corps for me, and the Garrison for Bertolt.” He laughs again. “I’ll go out and kill all the titans, and he’ll make sure the gates in the walls are ready to open when we’re done, and you and Jean can protect the King when he makes his announcement that we’re ready to go back out and reclaim the world!” He pats Marco on the back. “When are you going to tell Jean you’re in love with him?”

Marco almost doesn’t hear the quiet, slightly mournful voice behind them that says “Probably when you remember that you’re a warrior,” because he’s too busy spewing beer everywhere and then coughing helplessly. Later, he’ll think how it was funny that Reiner waited a moment or two before pounding him on the back, like he had something else on his mind. By the time his coughing fit is over, Bertolt has materialized on Reiner’s other side, sitting next to him, and they’re doing their weird telepathic eye-fucking communication thing, and Jean is watching them from across the fire, his brows knit down in concern. Marco raises a hand weakly and waves at him—yes, I’m fine, please stay over there, don’t come over here, you don’t need to hear this—and after a moment, Jean’s forehead smoothes out and he turns back to Connie.

“ _What_?” he rasps to Reiner, and both he and Bertolt turn to look at him, their eyes dark and glimmering in the dancing firelight, and Marco feels a completely irrational stab of fear, like he’s stumbled across something intensely private and personal that no one else should be privy to.

But then Reiner smiles, and Marco’s apprehension melts away. He’s being silly, it’s just Reiner and Bertolt, they would never hurt him. Reiner’s arm winds around his shoulders again, pulling him close, and at least the big moose lowers his voice this time, so it doesn’t boom across the campfire and tell everyone what they’re talking about. “Jean. When are you going to tell him how you feel?”

Bertolt sighs, looking up at the stars and distancing himself from the conversation, and Marco flushes and looks down at the rocks, glowing dull red from the heat, that ring the fire. “I… I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Reiner sighs, and Marco can’t help but feel like he’s disappointed him somehow. “It’s not weird, you know, liking guys.”

“I like girls too!”

Reiner chuckles, and even Bertolt glances over at them. “You said ‘too,’” he points out gently, and Marco groans and hides his face in his hands. He does like girls, he made quite the splash with the female cadets in his first year, sneaking out at night to kiss more than a few of them, but that had gradually tapered off. He realizes, much to his chagrin, that he can’t remember the last time he snuck off to swap spit and grope fumblingly in the dark with one of the girls from the 104th. No, he had instead chosen to stay in the men’s barracks, hanging out with Jean, laughing and talking with him deep into the night, sleeping next to each other on their bunks. In fact, now that he thinks about it, the last girl he’d kissed had gotten angry about his uninspired, half-hearted attempts and made a caustic remark about him liking horses better than girls before she flounced off. Marco had thought she’d meant actual horses and was just trying to insult him, and had been surprised at the tiny, glowing spark of relief he’d felt when she’d washed out of the Corps a few weeks later.

He groans, wishing he was more drunk than he actually is, and turns his face to lean into Reiner’s broad shoulder. The big man wraps his arm around him and pats him on the back, the gesture surprisingly gentle for someone Marco has seen do pushups with Bertolt, Connie, _and_ Krista sitting on his back, and maybe it’s the alcohol, or the atmosphere, or maybe Marco is just tired of hiding it and keeping it inside. “I don’t think he feels the same way.”

“His loss.” This time, it’s Bertolt who speaks, and that is enough to make Marco lift his head and look at him in surprise. Bertolt is looking at the fire, his eyes hooded and contemplative. “If he’s not interested, at least you’d know.” He turns to look at them, and Marco gets the oddest feeling that he’s talking to Reiner and not to him. “There wouldn’t be any mystery, even if the answer isn’t the one you want.”

Reiner nods in agreement, although he’s looking at Marco and not Bertolt, and Marco thinks he sees a flash of disappointment in Bertolt’s eyes, or maybe it’s just the firelight flickering across them. “You should tell him.”

“I _can’t_.” Marco sounds like he’s whining, even to his own ears, and he swallows roughly, trying to force his voice into a mature timbre before he continues. “I mean… I don’t even know how to be with a guy.”

Reiner shrugs, as if that’s a simple obstacle and not an impossibility. “We could teach you.”

Marco must be wearing the same expression of shock as Bertolt, because Reiner looks back and forth between the two of them, and cracks an abrupt, shit-eating grin. “I mean, why not?” He leans close, his lips next to Marco’s ear as he confesses, in a stage-whisper so Bertolt can hear too, “I mean, it’s not like it’s a secret that me and Bertolt are together, right?”

Marco shakes his head, but it’s more to clear it than to admit that he didn’t know that. It’s one of the open secrets in the 104th, something everyone knows but no one talks about. Reiner is a great guy, but there’s no way he would put up with Bertolt’s limbs all over him every night if he wasn’t getting something out of it. Beyond that, they move around each other in an elaborate dance that only they know the steps to, mimicking and imitating each other’s movements without even thinking about it. Marco has seen Reiner slip a spoon into Bertolt’s hand during mess almost before Bertolt drops the one he was holding, and he’s seen Bertolt put his hand on the back of Reiner’s neck in a little touch that’s more like a caress more times than he can count. They’re like one soul in two bodies, like the sun and the moon, and thinking about them has stupid, drunk tears filling Marco’s eyes and threatening to spill over. That’s what he wants with Jean, that kind of closeness, that kind of trust, and he’s afraid that he’ll never get it.

While Marco was thinking things over, Reiner seems to have reached a decision, and he stands up, tugging both Marco and Bertolt up with him. “Come on. We’re going back to the barracks.”

“Reiner, no.” Marco struggles to get free, but it’s a half-hearted attempt at best, and Bertolt doesn’t even try at all, just sighs and looks at Reiner with long suffering eyes.

“Reiner, yes.” Reiner starts dragging them both away from the fire, and Marco casts one last look over his shoulder before the woods swallow them up, but he can’t see Jean anymore.

When they’re a little deeper into the woods, past the light of the fire with only the moon shining through the trees to light their path, Bertolt gently but firmly makes Reiner let Marco go, and pulls his friend/lover/Marco doesn’t even know anymore ahead. They have a brief, whispered conference that Marco can’t hear, heads down and together, and he wonders with a tiny pang if that’s what he and Jean look like when they’re plotting something. Or, more accurately, when Jean is plotting something and he’s letting himself get dragged into it against his better judgment.

They split apart and Reiner keeps striding forward, while Bertolt drops back and walks beside Marco. Marco glances up at him, but the shadows obscure Bertolt’s face, almost like he’s wearing a cowl, and Marco feels that same lick of unease that he felt back at the fire. He doesn’t know Bertolt all that well; he doesn’t think anyone does, besides Reiner and possibly Armin. They’ve been in the same squadron for the last three years, they’ve trained together, sweat together, bled together… and yet Bertolt is a mystery to him. The only things he knows about him are small and inconsequential: he moves a lot when he sleeps; he plays chess well and defensively; he’s smart, almost as smart as Armin, but so quiet that no one really notices.

Bertolt walks beside him in silence for awhile, his footsteps so light that he might as well be a ghost, much quieter than Reiner’s galumphing stomps up ahead or even Marco’s own tentative tread, and Marco wonders if Bertolt is drunk at all. He isn’t acting drunk, or inebriated in any way. He seems just like he always does: quiet, inscrutable, and forever in Reiner’s shadow.

“You don’t have to do this.” Marco jumps when Bertolt finally speaks, his voice low and almost sad. He looks over at him, but Bertolt is watching Reiner’s back, and Marco wonders if his own eyes ever hold that much longing when he looks at Jean. He hopes not, because if he ever doubted that Bertolt loved Reiner, loved him with all his heart and soul, he doesn’t anymore. Then Bertolt blinks and turns to look at Marco, and the moment is broken. “You can go back to the fire if you want. He’s drunk and won’t remember, and I’ll take care of him.”

“You shouldn’t have to take care of him on your own.” Marco says it neutrally, and he’s surprised when Bertolt laughs. It’s not a sound he’s heard often, but he doesn’t think that anyone’s laughter should be tainted with so much bitterness.

“I have before, and I will again.” Bertolt shakes his head and sighs, and the bitterness departs, leaving him with slumped shoulders and dark, opaque eyes. “Seriously, though. If you’re not interested, you don’t have to come with us.”

Marco thinks about that for a few minutes. Bertolt leaves him to his thoughts, walking quietly beside him, and it probably should have felt awkward but just felt companionable instead. Marco is not inexperienced, he’s had his share of kissing and fumbling, ham-handed groping behind the barracks, but he’s never had sex, either with a woman or a man, let alone _two_ men. It’s an idea he wants to refuse, just based on principle, but he can’t deny the worm of excitement coiling in his belly. He’s nothing spectacular, and he knows it; he got into the top ten through a combination of pure hard work, dedication, and teamwork. He doesn’t stand out on his own, he’s not fast or an expert with the gear or powerful. He’s just himself, and nothing more, and he doesn’t know when a freckled former farm boy from Jinae district is going to get a chance like this again. On the other hand, he’s a romantic at heart, and he always wanted his first time to be something special, with someone he loves. But the person he loves is too clueless to realize he’s interested, Marco thinks with a spark of rebellion, and he has two handsome, good-looking guys inviting him to join them in… he’s not quite sure yet, but the way Reiner was talking and Bertolt was sweating, it’s bound to be good.

“Is it okay with you if I stay?” Reiner has made his opinion clear, but Marco doesn’t know where Bertolt stands on this. 

Bertolt actually stops walking and stares at Marco, his eyes wide and shocked, and Marco realizes that no one ever asks him his opinion, that he’s forever trailing after Reiner and having his will bent to those around him, and in that moment, he feels desperately, achingly sorry for the taller boy.

Then Bertolt starts walking again, and Marco hurries to keep up. “It’s fine. You can stay.” Bertolt is walking fast, trying to catch up to Reiner, and Marco breaks into a trot to keep pace. His legs aren’t short, he thinks ruefully, but he’s got nothing on Bertolt.

“You guys coming or what?” Reiner yells over his shoulder, and when Bertolt starts to jog, Marco has to flat out run so that he isn’t left behind.

They end up in the stables, and Marco has to appreciate the irony of that. A few horses stick their heads out of their stalls and nicker at them, until Bertolt runs his fingers over their silky noses and they quiet. Reiner arrived ahead of them, and he’s moving around up in the loft, pushing things back and forth and swearing softly under his breath. Once he’s sure the horses will be quiet, Bertolt moves to the ladder up to the loft, Marco behind him, but then he pauses before he starts to climb.

“Last chance,” he says, and Marco looks up at him, at the lines the shadows have etched along his cheeks, and he rocks forward onto his toes, stretching up and up, until he can plant a short, chaste kiss on the corner of Bertolt’s mouth. Bertolt tastes warm and damp under his lips, and Marco has to smile at the novelty of being the shorter one while kissing. He smiles even more when he moves back and sees the look on Bertolt’s face.

“It’s fine.” He gives him a gentle shove. “Come on, before Reiner breaks everything up there.”

Bertolt hurries up the ladder, and Marco follows behind at a more sedate pace. He hears rustling and quiet conversation up above him, the words sliding away without meaning, and he wonders if he’s made the right decision. He doesn’t do things like this; he’s always been responsible, first a dutiful son and then a dutiful soldier, and he never thought he’d be in a position like this, that he’d be about to fuck two other men when he’s not in a relationship with either one of them. But… but he’s always made the right decisions, the safe ones, the ones everyone expects, and if he can’t make a rebellious one now, then when? When will he ever get a chance like this again? Besides, after the graduation ceremony tomorrow, he’ll never have to see Reiner or Bertolt again, and they’ll never have to discuss this. And after tomorrow, he’ll have the rest of his life to try and catch Jean’s heart.

Marco pokes his head into the loft, and he chuckles quietly at the sight before him. Reiner laid out some blankets for them, scattering them around the loft (like someone who has done this before, used this very loft in the past, Marco notes with some amusement), and he’s already shirtless and hovering over Bertolt, kissing him and pushing him up against a stack of hay bales. Bertolt has his arms around Reiner’s neck, his hands in his short, bristly hair, and the way he’s kissing Reiner is the first time Marco has seen him passionate about anything, and he wonders if Reiner is the only one who gets the privilege of seeing Bertolt engaged and invested, truly focusing on what he’s doing. Either way, the sight is hotter than he thought it would be, and he lingers on the ladder for a few moments, watching them paw at each other and listening to the soft sounds they make.

When Reiner goes for Bertolt’s belt buckle, Marco decides it’s time to join in, and he climbs the rest of the way into the loft. He slips up behind Reiner, putting his hands on his waist, and leans in to trail kisses up his spine, his lips nearly lost in the deep crevice of Reiner’s muscles. Reiner makes a startled little sound, and Marco realizes he’d forgotten about him. He’s not offended; if he had been kissing someone the way Reiner had been kissing Bertolt, he’d probably forget everything around him too.

Reiner recovers from his surprise quickly, and although Marco can’t see it, he imagines another of those eye-fucking conversations happening just above his head. Whatever they talked about, they must have reached an agreement, because Reiner suddenly twists and catches Marco by the armpits, moving him as easily as if he were a child and dragging him around between them. Marco reaches up automatically, supporting himself with his arms around Reiner’s neck, and that’s all the invitation the big man needs to lower his head and start kissing him. Reiner’s kisses are nothing like the one Marco shared with Bertolt; he’s aggressive, needful, his lips moving and pressing against Marco’s, his tongue sliding forward and tracing Marco’s lower lip. Marco is a little surprised by the onslaught, but he tightens his grip on Reiner’s neck and goes for it. Kissing Reiner is different than kissing a girl; his mouth is bigger, for one, and Marco can feel the prickle of beard hair against his skin, and no girl had ever been so insistent, so forceful with her need. He likes it, and although he’s not used to kissing like this, he gives back as best he can, imitating Reiner’s movements and gripping him tightly.

He almost forgets about Bertolt until he feels his hands on him from behind, running over his sides before snaking around to his front. Bertolt presses his chest to Marco’s back, and Marco shivers; Bertolt feels heated against him, almost feverish, and Marco arches his back into his heat, pulling Reiner’s head forward with him. Then he feels Bertolt’s mouth on his neck, light and exploring, moving up the side of his neck to his ear, and Marco moans a little into Reiner’s mouth. He’s never felt anything like this, never had two mouths moving across him at the same time, and it’s a little overwhelming… especially when Bertolt nips and then sucks on his earlobe, and Marco squirms between them, his pants suddenly too tight.

Reiner pulls back to laugh, the sound a little breathless, and he pushes them both backwards and down, and Marco is squashed between two heavy, muscular bodies until they all sink down to the floor. They end with Bertolt leaning against a hay bale, Marco sitting between his legs, and Reiner kneeling across from them. Once they’re in position, Reiner looks up at Bertolt, and Marco wonders if Bertolt can see the pure, unaffected love in Reiner’s golden eyes. Somehow, he think Bertolt misses it every time, even as Reiner leans forward and around Marco, catching Bertolt’s mouth in a sloppy, noisy kiss. Marco leans his head to the side, letting it come to rest on Bertolt’s shoulder, and watches the show in front of him with heavy-lidded eyes. He lets one of his hands drift southward, and palms himself through his pants, adjusting his erection so it points straight up along his belly.

It’s Bertolt who breaks their kiss, and he looks pointedly down at Marco when Reiner whines in frustration. Rather than let the sharp daggers of being forgotten when he’s right there in front of them sink in, Marco reaches up and grabs the back of Reiner’s head, pulling him down for another kiss, and Reiner falls into it gladly, his tongue snaking forward almost immediately and claiming Marco’s mouth for its own. Bertolt kisses his ear, running his tongue along the shell, and then his hands move to Marco’s chest, and he starts to slowly unbutton his shirt.

Moving in an eerie synchronization, as if they’d planned this, Bertolt unbuttons Marco’s shirt and Reiner sinks further along his trunk, his lips tracing over Marco’s collarbone, his sternum, his ribs, as they’re exposed. Marco pants, unable to move between them and not really wanting to, his head swimming and his senses slowly becoming overwhelmed by Bertolt’s gentle hands and Reiner’s insistent mouth. When his shirt falls all the way open, Bertolt moves his hands back to his chest, and Marco gasps when Bertolt thumbs at his nipples. He knows that girls like having theirs touched, but he’d never thought to try his own. That was a terrible oversight, he realizes now, and he makes soft, gulping noises as Bertolt flicks and tweaks them. Reiner looks up at them from where he’s paused near Marco’s belt, and he must like what he sees, because a slow, approving smile spreads across his face and Marco wonders if the image of them together just got added to Reiner’s mental spank bank.

Reiner looks back down, and starts fumbling with Marco’s belt, half using his hands and half using his teeth, and Marco squirms wantonly, pressing back against Bertolt as he braces his legs on the floor and lifts his ass. Reiner chuckles, low and warm, and slowly strips Marco down, exposing his cock and the long muscles of his thighs. Marco swallows, his throat suddenly dry, at the hungry look that passes over Reiner’s face as he stares at his erection, but then Bertolt pinches one of his nipples and all thought floods out of his head, replaced by slow, growing pleasure.

“You have freckles _everywhere_ ,” Reiner says approvingly, and Marco lifts his head to object, but he’s too late; Reiner is bobbing his head low over his lap, and Marco feels the first touch of a wet tongue on the underside of his dick. Reiner licks up his length, long and slow, and Marco rocks back against Bertolt’s chest, trying to stifle his moans and producing funny little squeaking sounds instead. He sounds like an over-excited mouse, he thinks, with the few brain cells still capable of thinking. Bertolt is quiet behind him, his hands stilling and his chin resting on Marco’s shoulder, and he thinks that Bertolt is watching Reiner, watching as he closes his mouth around Marco’s length and drags upward, and Marco shuts his eyes and just goes with it. For awhile, all he can think about, all he can process, are the soft, hot sensations around his cock, the way Reiner swirls his tongue around the head and licks leaking pre-come off the slit, the way his rough, callused hand slips between Marco’s legs and gently toys with his balls. He can hear the wet, sloppy sucking sounds Reiner makes, but it’s the quiet rumble of Bertolt’s breathing that catches his attention, and Marco is fascinated by the way it speeds up, in time to Reiner’s ministrations between his legs, and he realizes he can feel Bertolt’s heartbeat pounding against his back.

He reaches back then, arching his back so he can twist around, and he catches the back of Bertolt’s head and draws him in, pressing their lips together and panting into his mouth. Bertolt doesn’t react at first, and Marco worries that he’s done something wrong, but then Bertolt’s arms tighten around his waist and he pushes into the kiss. Bertolt’s kisses aren’t as aggressive as Reiner’s, Marco discovers, but there’s a different quality of need to them; it almost feels like Bertolt is trying to breathe using the air Marco exhales, like he’s trying to absorb some part of Marco’s essence, and it’s more intense, more intimate, than Reiner’s head between his legs, and Marco thinks he’s learned more about Bertolt in the last half hour than the previous three years. Marco feels his eyes fill with unexpected, unbidden tears, and he barely notices they’re there until Bertolt breaks their kiss with a gasp and starts kissing his eyelids, brushing the tears off his eyelashes with his lips, and Marco is starting to understand why Reiner loves him. 

“Marco.”

For a second, Marco doesn’t even recognize his own name.

“Marco. Hey, Marco.”

Reiner has to nudge his thigh twice more before Marco opens his eyes and looks down at him. Bertolt busies himself with Marco’s hair, sticking his long, elegant nose into it and breathing deeply.

“Huh?”

Reiner’s eyes are bright and sparkling, his cheeks stained pink, and Marco notices how flushed and swollen his lips are, slick and shiny with spit and other fluids. “You should let Bertolt fuck you.”

Marco swears he hears every bone in Bertolt’s neck crack as he whips his head around. “Reiner, no,” he says softly, and Marco has a moment to feel hurt before Reiner laughs and shakes his head. 

“It’ll be fine, I swear.” He pats Marco’s thighs before pushing them further apart. “You’re not _that_ big, he can take you.”

Marco suddenly wonders if Armin ever tells Krista that she’s not _that_ short, and if Reiner’s definition of big might be very different than his own.

Bertolt doesn’t say anything else, and Marco lets go of his head, twisting back around to fully face Reiner. He feels something poke into the small of his back, something that is very definitely pretty damn big, and he’s about to protest again when Reiner starts mouthing at his balls. Any protest comes out in a wordless whine, and Marco ends up rocking his hips forward, into the sensation. Reiner chuckles again, the sound muffled, and Marco can feel it vibrate all the way up his spine. He squirms, trying to get into a better position, and Bertolt suddenly reaches down and takes hold of his legs, pulling them up and backwards. Marco folds in on himself, his knees ending near his ears, and he’s quietly grateful for all those awful stretching exercises Shadis made them do. He’s never been this exposed, never shown so much of himself to anyone else, and it’s equal parts bizarre and exhilarating.

Reiner drops further between his legs, and Marco has a split second of absolute shock, when he _thinks_ he knows what Reiner is going for but had no idea anyone actually _did_ that… and then that’s exactly what Reiner does, and one of the horses snorts and stomps beneath them, disturbed by the keening sound from Marco’s throat.

“Shhhh, it’s okay.” Bertolt’s voice is soft and reassuring in his ear, and Marco stops moving. It’s hard not to wiggle, not when Reiner’s tongue is trying to penetrate his asshole, but he swallows and tries to focus. “It’s okay,” Bertolt repeats, and he kisses Marco’s ear. “If you want to stop, just let me know.”  
 Marco opens his mouth to tell him it’s okay, that he wants this, but at that exact moment Reiner’s tongue pushes past his ring of muscle and sinks inside him, and all that comes out is a strangled groan. Bertolt looks at him knowingly, and cranes his neck to plant a kiss on Marco’s open, panting mouth. “He’s good at that, isn’t he?”

Reiner grunts from between Marco’s legs, and reaches up to swat at Bertolt but ends up just hitting Marco’s hip. Bertolt snorts quiet laughter and readjusts his hold on Marco’s legs, and Marco wonders how something so weird could feel so incredible. He also hopes Reiner doesn’t try to kiss him again.

Bertolt is right, Reiner _is_ good at what he’s doing, and it doesn’t take long before Marco is a flushed, squirming, panting mess in Bertolt’s arms. He feels loose, like every limb is disconnected from all the others, like he’s a rag doll without bones, like Reiner has taken him apart with his mouth and tongue and not put him back together yet. He starts pushing his hips backwards against Bertolt, no longer satisfied with the tongue in his ass and wanting more, and turns to look plaintively up at the taller boy.

“Please…”

Bertolt had been watching Reiner, his eyes hooded and dark, and he doesn’t realize immediately that Marco is talking to him. Marco reaches up and touches his cheek, biting desperately at his lower lip, his body shaking in Bertolt’s arms. “Bertolt, please… please, I…” Marco trails off; there are a lot of things he wants, a lot of things he wants to see and do and experience before he dies, but there’s only one pressing on his mind and into the small of his back right now.

Bertolt blinks, and the shadows over his eyes clear. He nods, and tugs Marco up, closer to his chest. Reiner’s tongue slides free, and the big man sits up, crouched between Marco’s spread thighs. “Yeah?” He grins brightly, licking his lower lip. “You ready?”

Marco nods, and Reiner turns his attention to Bertolt. “You ready?” he asks, and touches the side of Bertolt’s face, the motion extremely gentle and almost painfully tender. Marco can’t see it from his angle, but he feels Bertolt shift underneath him, and realizes he’s leaning his head into Reiner’s palm. 

Then Bertolt must have done something that Reiner understood, because he’s taking his hand away and fumbling with something behind Marco’s spit-slick ass, and he realizes he’s trying to get Bertolt’s pants undone and his cock out. He rocks his hips up as best he can, giving Reiner room to work, and a few minutes later has Reiner grinning triumphantly and spitting into his palm. Marco hears some slick rubbing sounds and feels Bertolt sigh behind him, and then there’s something rubbing against his entrance, something big and fleshy and big and hot and oh sweet goddesses of the wall that is so much bigger than Reiner’s tongue.

Reiner looks up and sees the look on Marco’s face, because he leans in towards them, and Marco realizes distantly that Reiner is chewing on a few pieces of hay that he must have grabbed while he wasn’t paying attention. “It’s okay,” he reassures him, and flashes that bright, confident grin that has gotten more than one terrified trainee to commit to something new and dangerous. “It’s okay, it’ll feel really good once it’s inside you, I swear, Bertolt is so good at this, _so good_ , he’ll treat you right and it will be amazing.” He turns and spits the hay out of his mouth, and Marco hardly even balks when he leans in to kiss him again, his lips soft and coaxing across his, and he relaxes. He trusts Reiner, Reiner wouldn’t lie to him, and everything so far has been better than he could have hoped.

“Reiner, if he doesn’t want…” Bertolt starts, but then Marco deliberately rocks his hips back, and he and Bertolt gasp in unison as the head of Bertolt’s cock sinks into Marco’s ass. It hurts, yes, but it’s a dull pain, nothing he can’t deal with, and Marco lets his eyes go soft and unfocused as Reiner leans across him and silences Bertolt with a kiss.

Bertolt really _is_ good at this, which doesn’t surprise Marco; he’s noticed that Bertolt might be one of the last of them to try anything new, but he’s usually among the first to get it right and perfect it. He’s patient, the muscles in his arms standing out like carved wood as he lowers Marco inch by inch over his impressive cock, and although he can’t see, Marco is pretty sure that if Bertolt’s dick were a titan, it’d be a colossal class. He drops lower and lower until he’s flush with Bertolt’s hips, sitting on him like a throne, and everyone needs to stop and catch their breath.

Reiner kneels across from them, and sometime during the long, slow descent onto Bertolt, he’s gotten out his own cock—an impressive specimen on its own—and strokes it with one hand, the blood red, flushed head of it disappearing inside his massive paw with each stroke. “Go on,” he breathes, his eyes shining in the dim light, looking almost like they’ve been replaced with molten gold. “Come on, Bertl, fuck him…”

Bertolt makes a snorting noise behind Marco, and he laughs breathlessly. He’s heard that noise a hundred times over the years, as has everyone else in the 104th. It’s the _Reiner, no_ sound, and for a moment, it almost makes Marco sad. After tomorrow, he’ll probably never hear that again. But what a time and place to hear it for the last time.

“Come on, Bertl,” he echoes, reaching behind him and linking his hands behind Bertolt’s neck for leverage. “Come on, fuck me.”

He wonders, later, if the _Marco, no_ noise that followed would have gotten as notorious as the Reiner one had they had another year of training, or if Jean does something similar when dealing with him. Probably not, he’ll decide: it’s much more likely that he makes a _Jean, please_ face that he’s just unaware of.

Bertolt starts slow, with smooth, shallow slides in and out, but with both Reiner and Marco’s encouragement, it doesn’t take him long to pick up the pace. His dick is huge, but Marco is more flexible than he thought, and it’s not long before he’s riding it like a champ, bouncing up and down along its length, and he yelps every time Bertolt hits this one place deep inside him. Reiner creeps closer as Marco slowly comes undone—he thought he’d been undone before, by Reiner’s tongue, but he’d had no idea how far you could push yourself before you really and truly fall apart—and by the time Marco is crying out with each thrust and smacking himself in the belly with his own painfully hard, neglected dick, Reiner is between his legs again, leaning against him and indiscriminately kissing both Marco and Bertolt. Marco feels pinned, sandwiched between two giants, and he rides it out as best he can, awkwardly trying to rub his cock along Reiner’s flat stomach and getting nowhere.

When he’s almost ready to sob, completely desperate and overwhelmed, Bertolt pulls out abruptly, and Marco whines at the sudden emptiness. Moments later, he feels hot, viscous fluids splatter across his balls and ass cheeks, and realizes what happened even as he feels the low groan rumble through Bertolt’s chest and into his back. Reiner grins hugely above him, and Marco could count every one of his teeth if he so chose.

Then something spears his ass again, and Marco cries out. This time it’s Reiner grinding against him, rutting into him hard and fast, and Marco flops in Bertolt’s arms like a rag. Each thrust jostles him and rattles his teeth, and he’s about to beg, about to plead with them to please, _please_ help him get off, when Bertolt kisses his ear and positions one of Marco’s legs over Reiner’s shoulder. Reiner takes the weight of it easily, hardly pausing in his thrusting, and Bertolt winnows a hand between them, wrapping one long, slender hand around Marco’s length and jerking him off. Marco does sob, once, when Bertolt brings him effortlessly to orgasm, spraying so hard he paints his chest white, and Reiner grunts a few moments later when he pushes in deep and Marco can feel his ass filling with hot fluids. It should be gross, or at least weird, but it’s neither. It’s something he could go for again, honestly… sometime when he’s not dripping with sweat from both himself and Bertolt and so fucked out he can barely see straight.

Reiner pulls out, and Marco can feel come dripping out of him, down his thighs, and that realization makes him shiver. Then Reiner pushes on his chest, and they all collapse into a tangled pile of limbs and sticky mess. Marco ends up cradled against Reiner’s chest, somehow, facing Bertolt, and the two taller boys reach for each other, arms and legs twining together with Marco’s, and Marco thinks sleepily that they almost feel like one person.

They lay that way for maybe a half an hour, long enough for the moonlight to change position on the barn wall, exchanging lazy kisses and cuddles, wiping each other off with rags and horse blankets, before anyone speaks. It’s Reiner, unsurprisingly, who breaks the silence. He sits up with a grunt, letting Marco fall bonelessly forward against Bertolt’s chest, and rubs at his eyes.

“You know, guys, that was really great,” he starts, and Marco smiles into Bertolt’s chest muscles; leave it to Reiner to conclude sex with a speech detailing everyone’s performance and how it could be improved. “But I don’t think we can meet like this again. I’m going to marry Christa pretty soon, and I can’t fool around on her once that happens.”

Marco looks up in confusion just in time to see Bertolt’s expression fracture. It happens quickly, so quickly that if Marco wasn’t so close to him he probably never would have seen it, but Bertolt looks stripped bare, raw and naked, like Reiner’s words tore all the skin off his face and left him with a twitching, gory mess of exposed muscle and sinew. Then it hardens again, and Marco wishes he could do something to make that dead look in Bertolt’s eyes go away.

“Marco,” Bertolt says quietly, and loosens his arms to free him. “Would you mind leaving us alone, please?”

The crisp formality worries Marco, but this seems like something between them, something he’s not meant to see or intrude upon, and he gathers his clothes without another word and hurries into them on the other side of the loft. He can hear them talking to each other, Bertolt’s voice low and soothing, Reiner’s plaintive and almost childlike. When he’s dressed, he stands by the ladder down to the stable, and turns to look at them. Bertolt has his arms around Reiner, stroking one hand over the back of his neck, and Reiner is curled in a ball within that safe circle, holding his head in both hands and rocking back and forth against Bertolt. If Marco didn’t know better, he’d think Reiner was crying.

“Uh.” He clears his throat, and lifts one hand in a pathetic excuse for a wave. “So, uh… thanks? That was fun, I’ll… I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He doesn’t expect them to answer, and turns to flee. He’s halfway down the ladder before Bertolt’s voice drifts down to him. “Marco?”

He freezes, squeezing the ladder so tight his knuckles turn white. “Yeah?”

He expects Bertolt to call him back up, but that isn’t what happens. “You should tell Jean how you feel about him.” A pause, and Bertolt sighs, murmuring something to Reiner that Marco doesn’t catch. “You don’t know when you might not get another chance.”

“Uh, yeah, okay. I’ll let him know! Thanks, guys!” He scrambles down the ladder and runs out of the barn before they can call him back or say anything else weird.

As he walks back to the barracks, though, Marco can’t help but smile. He’s exhausted, worn out and grimy with sweat and come, but he’s never felt so alive. He feels exhilarated, like everything around him is standing out in brighter colors and more defined shapes than before, and he feels like he can see every leaf on the trees, every insect flying through the cool night air. If his ass wasn’t so sore, he’d skip all the way back to the barracks.

The barracks are quiet when he gets to them, the bonfire long since extinguished and everyone sleeping off the alcohol in their systems. Marco thinks, a little deliriously, that he has a much better way for getting sober, and he almost laughs as he climbs into the bunk he shares with Jean.

Jean is already there, sprawled out on his back and snoring, but he wakes up a little when Marco settles next to him, rolling over and poking an accusing finger into Marco’s chest.

“The fuck were you?” he demands sleepily, and Marco grabs his hand and cradles it in both of his. Jean doesn’t notice, more asleep than awake, and just glares at Marco blearily. “Waited for your dumb ass at the fire.”

Marco chuckles quietly and pulls a blanket over both of them, letting go of Jean’s hand and throwing an arm around him with the blanket. Jean grunts in surprise, but there’s no indignant bellow or accusatory looks, and he actually wiggles forward and drops his forehead onto Marco’s shoulder. “Where’d you go?” he asks, and his voice reminds Marco of Reiner’s, when Bertolt was hugging him and talking to him in words Marco couldn’t hear. “I couldn’t find you, I didn’t know where you went.”

“I’m back now,” Marco tells him, and that seems good enough for Jean. His eyes droop closed, and he’s snoring again within moments. Marco adjusts the blanket around them both, tucking it in under his back so Jean doesn’t steal all of it during the night, and sighs peacefully. Weird, how it takes another man’s come drying on the inside of your thighs to make you realize what you really want.

“Tomorrow,” he whispers into Jean’s hair, curling his arm tighter around him. “I’ll tell you tomorrow.” Marco closes his eyes then, and drifts off to sleep.


End file.
